


the world is ours to take

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series, hunter husbands, they have sex in a motel by the sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was right about the heater; it’s one of the only things that works properly in this room, thirty years old as it is, and his skin prickles with the welcome heat as he strips off his jacket and t-shirt, shimmies out of his jeans. Down to only his underwear he stifles a yawn and crawls back into the nest of blankets Cas has created. His spot is long since cold but Cas’s body is a furnace and he nestles his way in until he can rub his frozen nose on the back of Cas’s neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world is ours to take

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in some post-series time where Cas is voluntarily human and no one is dying and the world isn't ending

 

 

A cold mist drapes itself over the parking lot, heavy and thick, the sun not yet high enough in the sky to burn it away. It changes the bright red motel room doors into a faded, muted burgundy and hides the dirt and scuff marks that smudge the beige stucco walls. Salt hangs in the air, carried by the icy wind, and with it a bitter, briny tang that burns the back of Dean’s nose.

He should have stayed in bed.

But he'd been restless, tossing and turning, until he'd given up on sleep altogether when the sky started to blur from bruise-black to a pale, watery grey. He'd wanted coffee, but the ancient machine in their room had given up the ghost three days ago and Dean can't be bothered to deal with the gum-snapping, pink-rinse Chatty Cathy who mans the front desk and definitely has a crush on Cas to get a replacement. Which left trudging across the street to the E-Z Mart, whose flickering neon open sign seems to perpetually be buzzing and proudly advertises Bud Light in the window, as the only other option.

But they had coffee, and they also had warm donuts, and that's all he really cared about.

Now, he balances the two cups on top of each other on the pastry box, using his chin to steady them as he digs a hand in his jeans pocket for the room key. He’s shivering, his breath fogging in front of his face, and he thinks longingly of the rattling heater that churns out dusty, dry air on the other side of the door.

His numb fingers finally catch on metal—Seaview Inn hasn't joined the 21st century yet and upgraded to key cards—and with a stiff click the lock turns and the door swings open.

It's dim inside, the thin gap in the curtains doing nothing to illuminate the room. It's also a mess; a week of living here while they try and figure out what's lurking in the harbor and snatching fishermen before the sun’s up has been exhausting and frustrating and it's made them lazy. Their duffel bags are on the floor, clothes spilling out of them. There’s a pile of take out containers stacked on the tiny kitchen counter, greasy and stagnating and starting to smell, and Dean knows for a fact that there’s at least three wet towels in a heap on the bathroom floor. He toes off his boots and leaves them where they land. Whatever. They can tidy when they’re done, when Dean’s mind is clear and can focus on something other than sea monsters for a while.

He dumps his breakfast spoils on the rinkydink table—also a mess, their laptops buried under piles of paper and John’s journal spread open on top, a roughly-drawn sketch of a kraken still visible even in the early morning light. In the bed, Cas is still asleep. He’s on his side, one arm hanging off the edge of the mattress and his mouth parted slightly. Human Cas doesn’t snore, thank fucking God, but sometimes he makes these little groany sounds in the back of his throat. Dean’s wondered in the past if it was a sign of nightmares—he wouldn’t be surprised—but Cas has assured him if he does have bad dreams, he doesn’t remember them in the morning. Still, if he’s awake Dean always soothes him with light kisses to his temple, a hand through his hair. He’s not dumb, he knows that there have been times over the years when Cas has taken away nightmares from him, eased what little sleep he did get, and he figures the least he can do is repay the favor the only way he knows how.

He was right about the heater. It’s one of the only things that works properly in this room, thirty years old as it is, and his skin prickles with the welcome warmth as he strips off his jacket and t-shirt, shimmies out of his jeans. Down to only his underwear he stifles a yawn and crawls back into the nest of blankets Cas has created. His spot is long since cold but Cas’s body is a furnace and he nestles his way in until he can rub his frozen nose on the back of Cas’s neck.

Naturally, Cas’s response to this is to grumble in Enochian and squirm away, his elbow coming perilously close to Dean’s ribs.

“Hey,” Dean mutters, “I went out and got you breakfast. Least you could do is warm me up.”

He bodily pulls Cas backwards, knowing his hands are like blocks of ice and not really giving a shit. Cas’s skin is soft and sleep-warm, his thick waist perfect for wrapping his arms around.

“Ugh,” Cas complains, voice thick with sleep. “Fine. For coffee.”

Dean grins, hiding it in Cas’s hair. He reaches behind himself and pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, tucking them in tightly, until he and Cas are pressed together in the warm space under the covers. Their body heat combines quickly, cocooning them in warmth. Dean loves it. He pecks kisses on the side of Cas’s neck, sucks a bruise into his shoulder where his shirt will hide it—can’t have an FBI agent with hickeys all over him—and snakes his hand over the flat muscles of Cas’s stomach. He dips his pinky under the waistband of his navy pajama pants and Cas sighs happily. Dean figured out pretty early on in their relationship that both of them were kind of suckers for this—that sometimes the spooning and the kissing and the lazing around in bed together is just as satisfying as the filthy hot sex they have.

It doesn't take long for Cas to huff and roll over so they can kiss properly, morning breath be damned. Cas always kisses like he means it, and his goddamn tongue sends Dean’s head spinning every time. For five minutes Dean allows the lazy morning makeout to continue until Cas’s stomach growls angrily, vibrating beneath his hand. He chuckles and finally lets up, pulling backwards and pressing one last kiss to Cas’s prickly cheek before he slides out of bed.

Breakfast is still warm thanks to the temperature of the room. They eat it in bed, Cas under the covers and Dean on top of them while he checks his phone and reads aloud the string of messages he has from an embarrassed Sam; he and Jody are down in Florida checking out reports of a “giant alligator with a human head and shark's tail” and apparently his dumb ass fell in a swamp last night.

“Rather them than us,” Dean snorts. “I'd take this freezing fog over Florida’s humidity any day.”

“It is very cold though,” Cas grumps, early morning tiredness still making him cranky, coffee or no.

With a leer, Dean removes the cup from Cas’s hand and places it on the nightstand beside his own. He sweeps the empty donut box on the floor and swings a knee over Cas’s legs.

“I can think of a way to warm us up.”

Cas’s body is solid despite being padded by the comforter, strong enough to support Dean’s weight bearing him down into the mattress. His arms come around Dean’s shoulders, fingers pushing into his hair and holding his head steady. It sends a shudder up Dean's spine, makes him think of where else his lips could be right now. He mouths across Cas’s neck instead, nosing behind his ear.

Cas makes a sleepy, happy hum. He tries to bring Dean under the sheets with him but Dean shoves them away instead and takes Cas’s pajama pants with them while he’s at it. The room is warm enough that they’re not gonna get cold, and it comes with the added bonus of Dean getting to sit up on Cas’s legs and rake his eyes over every inch of his body, from his mussed up bed head and three-day stubble to the fading hickeys on his chest and the wiry hair stretching down from his bellybutton and framing his cock, already on its way to getting hard.

“Goddamn,” Dean whistles, and it’s not like this is the first time they’ve had sex but it comes so easy that he forgets it isn’t something they’ve been doing all the years they’ve known each other, but in fact is pretty new to them.

Outside, wind buffets the cheap window frame until it rattles. Seagulls squawk obnoxiously as they hunt for breakfast and a cargo ship blasts its horn. It’s actually getting darker, if anything. Rain must be on the way, which right now sounds kind of perfect; Dean wants nothing more than to hole up in this room with Cas all day until the storm has passed. Screw sea monsters, screw more unproductive trips on a filthy, stinking fishing trawler pretending to be ornithologists looking at the damn birds. Cas is sucking on Dean’s lower lip and gracelessly shoving his hands down his boxers—the rest of the world can wait.

A huge yawn cracks over Cas’s face just as Dean gets his boxers off and he stops wiggling, arching an eyebrow. “Am I keeping you awake?”

“Yes, actually,” Cas tells him, then wraps his hand around Dean’s dick. “I don’t mind, though.”

Dean grins and groans at the same time, falling back down until their chests are pressed together, their nipples brushing and igniting sparks low in his groin. He pushes up to his knees so that Cas has the room to keep stroking him, slow and teasing, his eyes heavy-lidded. He has no idea how gorgeous he is like this, how Dean just wants to mess him up and keep him like that. He drags his fingers through Cas’s hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.

“Wanna fuck me?” he breathes, looking Cas right in the eye so he doesn’t miss the way he moans and arches up.

“Dean, do you really have to ask that question?”

Dean smiles and kisses him once, twice, and says against his mouth, “Just makin’ sure we’re on the same page.”

The small bottle of lube they brought with them is shamefully almost empty but Dean’s still pretty loose from their little shower escapades last night—he’s totally changed his mind about shower sex, it’s fucking awesome when Cas is still strong enough to pin him against the wall without losing his footing—so he knows it won’t take much.

Making sure his fingers are nice and slick, he reaches behind himself and inserts two at once. The burn is so good he can’t help but whimper, hips rocking into Cas’s and rubbing their cocks together. Cas is staring, transfixed, at the flexing of Dean’s arm and the space where his fingers disappear. He’s breathing hard, hands clenched on Dean’s hips, but otherwise he makes no move to help.

“It’s okay, you just lie there, I’ll do all the work,” Dean says, voice heavy with sarcasm and breathless from how goddamn turned on he is.

“Okay,” Cas agrees, and Dean rolls his eyes as he shifts forwards so that he can take Cas’s cock in hand and guide it back to where he’s so fucking desperate for it to be.

The feeling of having Cas inside him, the sheer, unadulterated bliss, is like nothing else Dean’s ever known. He’s messed around with guys in the past but having to do so in sketchy bar bathrooms where he knew he only had a few minutes before Sam—or worse, Dad—came looking isn’t the same as having Cas’s arms wrapped around him and gentle kisses while he adjusts. The look Cas gives him when they do this is something Dean’s sure as hell never experienced before either. It makes him feel loved.

“You are loved,” Cas says, soft into Dean’s mouth, and Dean cries out helplessly. He starts riding Cas in earnest, hands splayed on his chest and sweat beading on his forehead. Cas continues to stare up at him with that stupid expression; a couple of times Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut. It's too much.

His thighs start aching quicker than he’d like, he’s not as young as he used to be, but Cas finally puts some damn effort into it and flattens his feet on the mattress so he can push up at the same time Dean comes down. It’s so good. Cas is hitting his prostate on every other thrust and dragging his nails up and down Dean’s thighs in that way that makes his knees weak. Dean leans over him again just so he can feel his dick dragging along Cas’s stomach, the slide smooth and perfect. It wouldn’t take much for him to come just like this and Cas knows it, pounding up into him harder than ever. They’re both groaning, panting, sticky and sweaty. Dean kisses him again, licks away the powdered sugar sweetness from his lips, and his whole body clenches with almost painful pleasure as he comes all over Cas's stomach with a fractured sob.

While he’s trying to catch his breath Cas rolls him over onto his back and sits himself over his thighs, a reverse-echo of their position from just a minute ago. He drags a hand through the mess Dean left on him and uses it to start jerking himself off, eyes roving all over Dean’s body.

And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing Dean’s ever seen. He moans, wishing like hell he could get it up again that quickly because he’s pretty sure that sight alone would do him in, and instead scrabbles for Cas’s clean hand. Cas presses their entwined fingers into the bed while he furiously fists his cock, eventually moaning Dean’s name and coming all over Dean’s dick, his abdomen, a strand even catching his right nipple. It’s worthy of the best porn and Dean hits a new peak, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of Cas’s come all over him, at realizing that he did that, that he made Cas feel that good.

Cas collapses onto his chest, heedless of how disgusting they both are right now. It’s kind of obscene how much Dean loves this part—holding Cas close to him, kissing him lazily, recovering, while still feeling the come and sweat drying on his flushed skin.

“We need a shower,” he says eventually, words pressed into Cas’s hair. “And the sheets probably need burning.”

“Mm,” Cas agrees, but he does nothing more than snuggle closer.

Okay, time for the big guns. “Last one dressed has to go ask Cheryl at the front desk for clean sheets.”

Dean can feel Cas’s frown. “She’s not that bad, you know. I think she’s just lonely.”

Snorting, he says, “Cas, she offered to share her lemon loaf with you.”

“She was being solicitous.”

One of the things Dean loves about Cas is his unrelenting kindness towards nearly everyone he meets, unless they’re monumental asswipes like that guy in the bar two weeks ago in which case he’ll punch their lights out, but he’s still pretty new at figuring out other people’s motivations. And while Dean doesn’t really think Cas will leave him for Cheryl and her leopard print velour tracksuit, he’s also a possessive bastard when it comes to the things—people—he loves.

“All right, fine, I’m still coming with you.”

Cas pushes up and moves to the edge of the bed, glancing over his shoulder at Dean. “Dean, if you really don’t want other people to flirt with me then you should, to quote Beyoncé, put a ring on it.”

He gets up and pads to the bathroom, meanwhile Dean is left feeling like someone just hit him over the head with a sack of bricks and also squeezed all the air out of his lungs just for good measure. That wasn’t a—there’s no way that was what he thinks it might have been.

“Did you just—did you… Beyoncé? _Really?”_

Oh god, his head’s gonna explode. This is way too much to handle at any time of the day, let alone eight in the morning. Put a ring on it. That’s just, that’s fucking—

He strides on slightly unsteady legs to the bathroom where Cas is waiting with a grin on his face and reels him in for a kiss. “I was joking,” he assures Dean, palm warm and reassuring on his cheek. “I know you have an aversion to modern day music.”

A joke. Fine, good. Only, the more Dean thinks about it the more it doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

“Ask me again,” he blurts, and Cas goes still and wide-eyed. “Not… not right now. Not when I’m, _we’re_ , covered in spunk and strung out from lack of sleep. But, soon. You could ask me again. My aversion isn’t—I’m not averted.”

To his credit, Cas recovers quicker than Dean did. His smile now is softer, the kind that’s more in his eyes than his mouth, and he grips Dean’s hand tightly as he reaches behind the shower curtain to get the water going. “Okay,” he says. “I will. But first you should shower with me.”

And that’s something Dean can definitely do.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [casfallsinlove](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
